


Trophy Box

by MagpieWendigo



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Hobbs - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 18:23:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20493233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieWendigo/pseuds/MagpieWendigo
Summary: Post-fall, Hannibal gives Will a gift he’s been preparing for years.





	Trophy Box

Will carefully peeled back the elegant wrapping paper, marveling at its meticulous folds and creases, like oragami. He glanced at Hannibal, who was leaning casually on the desk, holding both of their wine glasses, the faintest of smiles hinted at in his eyes.  
  
The paper fell away to reveal a gorgeous wooden box engraved with an intricate family crest. Upon closer inspection Will saw the scrollwork heraldry featured a lion, a dragon, and a mongoose. “What is this, an heirloom? Hannibal, I can’t possibly accept such a priceless-“  
  
Hannibal held the glass to his lips and inhaled fully before taking a sip, enjoying the full experience of the wine he’d been saving for this occasion. “I had it custom made. Just open it, Will,” he said, setting both wine glasses on the desk and gently clasping his hands behind his back, waiting.  
  
Whatever was in this box, Will felt unworthy, he was sure of it. He hated when Hannibal showered him with lavish gifts, preferring more practical, functional things like- he paused, the lid halfway open- like...fishing tackle...Will opened the box fully to examine its contents.  
  
Inside he found several wooden compartmented trays and he removed them for inspection, fly fishing tackle, lure wrapping supplies, each space filled with obvious care. “Hannibal, I-“ Will was stunned. He could only stare at the vast array of material before him and yet... the longer he stared, the more he realized what he was really looking at. Torn scraps of fabric, fiber clearly unraveled from garments, locks of hair, shards of bone, a piece of plastic comb, bits of cartilage, spools of wrapping thread that looked suspiciously like gut. His heart was in his throat.  
  
He heard Hannibal shift behind him but kept his attention on the box. Will, fascinated and disgusted, reached for something gold glinting among the assortment of hooks. The answer slowly dawned on him as he started to speak, but he asked anyway, “What is all this?” His voice quiet, choked.  
  
“Trophies,” Hannibal replied, the smile in his eyes now sounding in his words. Will picked up the golden object and saw it was a ring, inlaid with antler. He set aside the tackle box with its carved lion and mongoose now forgotten, and stared wide eyed at the ring in his hand.  
  
He turned to find Hannibal down on one knee, backlit by the glowing fireplace, looking serene and maybe even a little smug. “Will, I have let you know me,” he said softly. “We have lived through betrayal and forgiveness. I see so much of myself in you; to lose you would be akin to losing my mind, something I never intend to experience.”  
  
Will, incredulous, raised his eyes to Hannibal’s face. “Are you..._proposing_ to me?”  
  
Hannibal simply held out his hand. “I had Mischa’s bracelet melted for the gold; the antler was a gift from Abagail.”  
  
Will’s heart swelled with a confusion of love and grief and hope and guilt. He placed the ring in Hannibal’s palm and let his fingers linger there, a touch more intimate than any kiss or embrace. With shining eyes, he met Hannibal’s gaze and whispered breathlessly, “_Yes._” 


End file.
